


Hawkeye's Little Archer Girl

by livingtheobsessedlife



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers Family, Dad!clint, Domestic, Gen, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-07 04:20:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11615742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livingtheobsessedlife/pseuds/livingtheobsessedlife
Summary: Phil could confidently say that nothing surprised him anymore.Except maybe coming home to find a sweet little girl cuddling into the side of Clint Barton with some absurd cartoon playing on the television. That certainly surprised him.ORThe story of Cara Barton, daughter of Hawkeye and the rest of the Avengers, who is, without a doubt, the most completely spoiled girl in all of New York City. It's okay, she's adorable.





	1. Avengers’ Girl

As the official Avengers Liaison and the esteemed SHIELD agent that he was, there wasn’t much that surprised Phil Coulson anymore. Not after the time he walked in on Thor crying over a game of Monopoly or the time he found Bruce plowing through a package of Oreos in a dark closet like some kind of crazed ogre, or especially after he inadvertently witnessed Tony braiding Natasha’s hair at 3 in the morning over strawberry milkshakes and a tacky rom com. Phil could confidently say that nothing surprised him anymore. 

Except maybe coming home to find a sweet little girl cuddling into the side of Clint Barton with some absurd cartoon playing on the television. _That_ certainly surprised him. 

Phil studied the pair from across the room, watching the small bodies sink into the oversized couch. And yeah, he was admittedly gaping just an eensy-weensy, tiny, little bit, and most definitely not thinking about how adorable it all looked (Barton was his agent, dammit), because what the hell Clint Barton, this bona fide lone wolf was looking incredibly domestic with this kid. It was making Phil's ‘inappropriate crush-y feelings’ tingle (the Avengers had remarkable superpowers, while Phil was stuck with a massive crush and obnoxious workaholic tendencies, the world wasn’t fair).

“ _Hawkeye_.” Phil said from the doorway, sounding like a stern dad, “Who is this?”

Clint maneuvered himself from where he sat so he could look at Phil, heedful not to wake the child in his arms, and quirked his lips into a wide smile, a contrite _hello_ of its own after a long day. He put a finger to his lips, then got up and wrapped the little girl around a pillow in his place (somehow without waking her). Clint silently waved Phil after him as he moved outside to the quiet of the small balcony outside Clint’s Avengers Tower apartment.

Phi sighed and followed. As he stepped out, he leaned against the cool steel of the railings and pointedly watched dusty clouds dance in front of the moon making sure not to look at Clint (it was the tactics of a disciplinary kindergarten teacher of some sort, he knew that, but whatever it worked). He waited patiently for Clint to speak first.

“Her name is Cara.” He said finally, “And I maybe, sorta, accidentally… _adopted her_.”

Okay, so, more surprises ( _dammit, Phil, you're getting old_ ).

“What?” Phil turned to his marksman, his gaping become wildly not-so-discreet now. Teenage-girl crush or no, Clint Barton was technically Phil’s responsibility as an Avenger and now he was finding out that his asset had adopted a kid. _Great job, Phil_.

Naturally, Clint winced at Phil’s epic incredulity, “ _It was an accident?_ ”

Phil had figured it probably actually was. Clint always had a soft spot for little kids that woefully resembled lost blue-eyed boys trapped between a circus master and a brother and a harsh reality, “What are you going to do with her?”

Clint grimaced, “Yeah, I hadn't really thought that far ahead.”

“Well, how old is she? Does she go to school? Does she have allergies? Medical conditions? Possible family?”

Clint just stared at him with wide eyes, “I have no idea.”

“Is there anything you _do_ know?”

“She likes pizza and puppies and that kid show Princess Sofia,” Clint answered quickly, “Oh, and both her parents are dead.”

Phil took a deep breath and clutched the bridge of his nose, “Is it… legal and everything?”

“Almost. Just some paperwork stuff. It all happened so fast.”

Phil frowned, “Do you know anything about kids?”

“Well, um..”

“Are you sure about this, Clint? This is a big thing.”

“I know it is, I know, but… She has nobody in this world anymore. Nobody. And she trusts me, and when you’re alone, trust is all you got, and I can’t take that away from her, and I’m not about to let her go into the system.” He was getting heated and fiery, daring Coulson to try to take this little girl away from him, an orphan's instinct, “I was thinking about taking some time off from work to take care of her or whatever.”

Phil stared, eyes hard, then nodded “Okay, okay. I understand. Time off is probably a good idea. And I’ll help you with her, if I can. I have nieces and nephews that I’m good with. I’ll help.”

“You don’t have to do-”

“It’s fine, Clint. I like kids, really, and you have no idea what you’re doing. You’re going to need all the help you can get. Plus,” He added, as an afterthought (to more himself than anybody else), “It’s kind of my job to watch out for the Avengers.”

Clint smiled and stepped toward the edge of the balcony, looking down at the oasis of late-night New York City far below him, breathing in the stars and dust, “Thank you, Coulson.” He whispered.

Phil watched as Clint stifled a yawn, “Of course, Clint. Now come on, you need to get some sleep.”

Inside, young Cara was still sleeping soundly on the couch, and not for the first or the last time Phil toyed with this strange, warm feeling in his gut as Clint picked Cara up and carried her into his guest room for the night. Phil tried to think of nothing but sleep as he padded off to his own room. 

********

When he woke up the next morning, Phil shuffled into the communal kitchen to find Clint properly attempting to drown himself in coffee, which was mostly odd just because Clint _never_ woke up before him. 

“You’re awake.” He said simply, sleep-deprived and still lagging slightly, watching for a moment as Clint stirred something in a large mixing bowl

“I’m making pancakes. Turns out Cara is an early riser and a _big_ fan of breakfast.”

And, sure enough, there sat young Cara, with her blue eyes, and her blonde hair tousled with sleep, and her small smile as she watched Phil nervously from the bar. 

Luckily for them, the other Avengers were either not at the tower because of work (Tony was in Malibu or Miami or maybe Moscow or something doing Stark Industries work or whatever billionaire geniuses did, Bruce was helping kids in a third world country somewhere, and Natasha was doing assassin things in some undisclosed location) or had declared it a private day in the wake of the Tower’s semi-emptiness (Steve still got overwhelmed, okay) or on other planets performing kingly duties (Thor may be an Avenger, but he was still Asgardian royalty first and foremost).

Clint smiled, “Cara,” He said, putting down the spoon for a second so he could step toward her, somehow big and soft at the same time, “This is Phil. The one I told you about? You’re going to love him.”

Phil watched as Cara’s eyes darted uneasily between Phil and Clint. It was obvious that even after so little time, she already trusted Clint, but she was nervous about Phil (which was understandable considering the whole ‘oh your parents are dead and now this burly archer dude is adopting you and he’s nice and all but you barely know him and oh also you live in a ginormous tower now’ thing). Phil tried to smile reassuringly at her before stepping back toward Clint at the stove.

“Did you find anything else out about her?” He asked quietly

“ _Actually_ ,” Clint started proudly, “I did! Cara is five and a half years old and doesn’t start school for another year. She has no allergies or medical conditions. She _hates_ bananas, and her parents were the only family she had. Also, it turns out she likes kitties just as much as puppies, but she doesn’t like the orange ones because they give her the heebie-jeebies.”

Trying not to dwell on the fact that Clint Barton, Mr. Arms-O-Clock, just used the word ‘kitties’ in an honest to God sentence, Phil replied dumbly, “Well, looks like you’ve had a busy morning.” 

Clint snorted, downing more coffee, “You have no idea.”

When Clint flipped the last pancake, he handed Phil the plate and they both moved to sit at the table with Cara. Clint sat beside Cara and Phil sat across from them. Doing his best to smile warmly, he said, “So Cara, Clint tells me that you like puppies?”

The young girl beamed for a moment, and stared wide-eyed at Phil as if sizing him up, before continuing to ramble on about why she preferred big dogs to small ones.

Phil was pretty sure that he was starting to warm up to this little, bright-eyed girl (and he certainly didn’t mind the way Clint looked at her like she was a million pounds of pure gold and rainbows).

********

After Clint tucked Cara in for the night, he wandered into the living room with Phil, both of them exhausted after a long day of entertaining a little girl with _considerable_ little-girl-energy. He let out a low grunt as he collapsed onto the couch. 

Clint sighed into the silence, “So, the papers went through. She’s mine now.”

“That’s good. She likes you.”

Clint didn’t even try to fight the smile that exploded across his lips, “I know.”

“Trusts you, too.”

His smile grew, “I know.”

They sat like that, in silence, for a few beats, just breathing in and out, before Clint said, “Her parents died to save her. In a fire caused by aliens, of all things.”

Phil hummed beside him, listening.

“SHIELD shut the whole thing down. It was an awful scene, almost no survivors. Except for her. I found her in the basement, all dirty, and she clung to me so tight, I just… I had to keep her.”

There was so much Phil wanted to say. He wanted to tell Clint that somehow he understood, how he understood the love Clint held for that little girl with the big eyes and the long hair, because he kinda felt that, too, but he didn't want to invade, he never did, so he just hummed to himself and to Clint in quiet cessation. 

And so the two of them stayed there for awhile, just the two of them, lounging on the huge, Tony-Stark-style couch and just _thinking_ in silence. Phil hopelessly thought about how Clint smiled when he looked at Cara, their inexplicable bond, the way the girl tugged excitedly on Clint’s sleeve every time she had an idea, the way Clint eagerly channeled his best Nick Fury impression when Cara asked him to play Pirates and Mermaids with her. Phil could only assume that Clint was thinking about the little girl, too. Just the little girl. 

********

The next day, Steve wandered into an elevator to find a wide-eyed girl staring up at him (Cara was quite taken with the whole Tower thing and was taking it all in stride, having a hell of a time just on her own). 

Being the national icon he is, Steve crouched down onto his knee and procured his best, most winning smile, “And who are you, little girl?”

“I’m Cara Barton!”

“Barton?”

“Yep,” She smiled proudly, “That’s what my new daddy told me my last name is, at least. What’s your name?”

Steve couldn’t help but smile, “I’m Steve. What are you doing in the elevators?”

She grinned then, mischievous and excited, “JARVIS and I are riding the elevators!”

“JARVIS, you’re watching out for her?”

“Of course, Captain Rogers. I have explicit instructions from Agents Barton and Coulson.”

“Okay, well, let’s go pay them a visit, how’s that sound?”

The elevator started moving and by the time the doors opened again, Steve had the little girl on his back in perpetual preparation for a piggyback ride (Steve honestly has no idea how or why or when he agreed to this, but that little girl’s beaming smile was _magic_ apparently). They stepped out and ran directly into a… flour covered Clint.

“So, I met Cara.” Steve said, looking a little sheepish as he lowered the little girl to the ground.

Clint fussed over his daughter, “Why was she on your back?”

“I..um…”

“You’re so tall! If she fell, she’d probably hurt herself!”

Steve pouted a little and since it was Captain America, Clint immediately deflated, reaching toward Cara, “Sorry, Steve. I just… don’t want to screw this up.”

Steve watched the way Clint smiled down at the little girl and the expression that materialised on Clint’s face was like nothing he had ever seen on the archer: _fondness and love and protection all rolled into one._ He followed Clint and Cara, slightly wonderstruck, into the flour-covered kitchen (Clint appeared to be baking) and tried not to feel like he was invading.

“Where’s Phil?” Cara asked 

“He went to work, remember?”

“But he was here yesterday!”

“That was because he worked from here. He had to go in today.”

Cara frowned and plopped stubbornly onto the sole bar stool miraculously not coated in white flour.

“How long have you had her?” Steve asked quietly from the doorway

“Today is the fifth day, I think.”

And that struck Steve as quite odd because as far as he knew, Clint had absolutely no experience with children at all (hell, the Avengers were practically _anti-kid_ , they were all so bad at it), but Clint was remarkably amazing with little Cara. It was frankly quite shocking. 

“Daddy, I want to help.” Cara declared, bounding out of her seat with shocking authority and peering up onto the counter to watch Clint work some kind of dough.

“Alright, Car,” Then, surprisingly, he turned to Steve, “Wanna help, _Uncle_ Steve?”

Steve burst into a very Captain America smile, “Sure.”

By the time their homemade cookies ( _Clint was pretty sure cookies were a thing dads did, right? He was a tad new at this_ ) were in the oven, Cara had Uncle Steve completely wrapped around her little finger.

(Two hours later when Cara fell asleep from a sugar crash, Clint sat down with Steve and a couple of beers and outlined the events of the past couple days, explained how and why Cara was _his_. Like Coulson, Steve said he’d help if he could, but when Cara woke up, Clint noted with a quiet smile that it was Phil’s presence that caused her little face to light up and not Steve’s.)

*******

Bruce and Tony got back to the tower at approximately the same time (though Tony was admittedly much, much louder, and much more ‘ _bow down to me, you plebs_ ’ than Bruce was about his return), and henceforth they found out about Cara at about the same time, too.

Tony strutted into the kitchen as soon as he got back, “What’s up, motherfu-”

“Mother _funk_?” Steve immediately interrupted with a fake laugh and a forced smile, bulging eyes in the direction of Cara, “Good one, Tony.”

Tony immediately frowned, “That’s a small human. What is a small human doing in my tower?”

“This is Cara,” Clint answered, wrapping an arm around his daughter’s shoulders, “She’s my daughter.”

Tony was frankly at a loss for words, “Wha-, Bu-, _No_!”

Bruce, who had come in just behind the billionaire, frowned, “What do you mean ‘ _no_ ’, Tony?”

“I _mean_ that Avengers Tower is an awesome adult, man cave of awesomeness and a kid is gonna get in the way of that vibe.”

“You’re kidding, Stark.” Steve deadpanned, “It’s a _kid_. An adorable one at that, too.”

Bruce had already kneeled beside her, introducing himself. With his soft eyes and warm voice and his whole ‘used to being around sick kids’ thing, she immediately adored him, taking up a fistful of his soft cotton shirt. Impressively, he didn’t even flinch, just moved closer to the little girl. Clint smiled from across the room before turning a glare to Tony.

“She’s _fine_. Cara is a great kid. Tony, am I going to have to fight you again?”

Tony gulped, thinking about what Clint had done _last time_ when he had eaten the last of his special cereal, “I’ll have you know that I updated the suit so that it comes to me on command.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Clint answered, stepping forward and calling on every ounce of his SHIELD intimidation training, “ _I’m faster_.”

"Bu-"

" _Faster_ , Tony."

Tony wanted to argue. He stammered in incohesive protest for a moment, before deflating into a frown. He watched as Bruce and Steve somehow got into a tickle fight with the girl, all three of them collectively tumbling over the couch in a very un-superhero-like manner.

“Am I the only one who objects to this, then? You know, technically this is _my_ house! You’re all my guests!”

Phil walked in then, tablet in hand (he had taken to working from the Tower so he could help the Avengers with Cara), “The girl stays, Stark. Suck it up.”

Tony pouted melodramatically, crossing his arms and stamping his feet where he stood. Tony frighteningly resembled a petulant child and Phil made note to _never_ let Clint allow Tony to babysit Cara. 

Phil smirked, “You’ll love her, Stark.”

Tony snorted, “Pssh, no I won’t”

“I betcha in no time she’ll have you inventing stuff for her.”

“I _highly_ doubt that.”

It took Cara less than a day and a half to convince Tony to engineer the greatest pet robodog (Cara named it Lucky, naturally) there ever was, and she wore him down with nothing more than pure happiness and smiles. They were all goners.

************

“ _Clinton Francis Barton_ , where are you?” Natasha’s voice roared through the Tower (seriously, R&D two floors down could hear her).

Clint’s hand poked sheepishly out above the couch, where Clint was playing on the floor with Cara and the toy doctor kit that Uncle Bruce had bought her, “Over here?”

She stormed over, red hair in a fire behind her, arms crossed over her chest. Her expression was bland, but Clint could see the anger lurking beneath her skin, “ _You. Adopted. A. Kid._ ”

“Ah, that,” Clint smirked and gestured at Cara, who was looking up at Natasha in an awestruck sort of idolatry, “Cara, meet your Aunt Natasha.”

Cara clambered to her feet, briefly getting caught in her miniature lab coat, “Hi, Aunt Natasha! Can I use my stethoscope on you?”

And Natasha froze, then and there. It was all a rather odd scene to watch unfold. Natasha Romanov, the bona fide Black Widow, who could face down an army blindfolded with nothing but her bruised fists and a coffee stirrer, had absolutely no idea what to say to the little girl with the bright eyes and the eager smile.

“Um,” She said, lowering herself to Cara’s height, still immensely hesitant, “I… guess so.”

And Cara went to work, too innocent to detect the way Natasha studied her as she moved around the living room gathering her doctor’s supplies.

When Cara brought her plastic stethoscope to Nat’s chest and demanded in her sweet, sweet voice, “Breathe in, Aunt Natasha,” Nat looked to Clint with wide eyes as she fell in love just a little bit and he just smirked and watched the way his new daughter and his best friend immediately bonded. Clint was quickly learning that Cara had that effect on people. 

Clint watched as Cara pushed gently on Natasha’s hair, moving it away so she could order her to breathe some more, something that Natasha would literally break anybody else’s wrist over. She put a bandaid on an imaginary injury.

The rest of the evening continued like that, with Natasha studying the little blue-eyed, blonde-haired girl who declared everything she said with unrelenting authority, and with Clint just smirking with his back leaned against the couch because oh boy he had known that Natasha would love his little girl (it was weird to think about how easily he thought of Cara as _his_ , but he did, and it was even weirder to think about how much he loved that).

Phil walked in later and found Cara curled naturally into Clint’s side as they watched a movie with Natasha. Phil wordlessly took up the seat next to Nat, eying Cara and Clint from across the room and pointedly ignoring the knowing smirk that Natasha channeled in his direction.

*************

When Thor returned to the Tower in between flashes of lightning and claps of thunder, he didn’t even question the little girl jumping up and down on the chair in the kitchen. He just sort of… appeared, and picked her up (because when Thor saw a kid, _of course_ that was his first reaction), and laughed along with her.

“And who are you little one?” He boomed, throwing her into the air.

“I’m Cara! Are you Uncle Thor?”

Thor’s laugh was raucous, “Yes! Yes, I am!” And he threw her up again.

“Thor Odinson!” Clint yelled over the giggling of the two blondes as he entered the room with wide eyes, “ _Put. My. Daughter. Down._ ”

“I am sorry, Sir Hawkeye.” Thor said, frowning and letting Cara down onto the floor with the gentlest touch, “I did not intend to upset you. This is your daughter?”

“Yes, it is.” Clint replied, bustling over to Cara so he could check for injuries (he was really starting to develop some scarily intense Dad Instincts).

“Young Eye of Hawk,” Thor said, looking way, way down at the excitable blonde girl at his feet, “How would you like to hear a story?”

Cara yelped, jumping eagerly on the balls of her feet, “What kind of story? Are there mermaids?”

Thor laughed heartily, the kind the inexplicably echoed through the halls, and he pulled Cara into his lap, “ _Certainly_!” He replied, “It is a tale long told of great warriors and a hideous sea serpent and beautiful Rhinemaidens, which are the same as your midgardian mermaids.” Thor poked goodnaturedly at the tip of her nose and Cara cheered as Thor started in on his story.

Soon enough, the Avengers all gathered in the kitchen, where Clint stood at the stove and made massive portions of spaghetti and meatballs, Cara’s favorite meal (between an Asgardian God, a superhuman with a meta-metabolism, and a genius who hadn’t eaten food of genuine sustenance in three days, epic proportions were absolutely necessary). They all listened rapt to Thor’s story (except for Phil who immediately set out to help Clint cook when he wandered into the kitchen). With his witty anecdotes, clever voices, and insightful morals, Thor was an attentive storyteller. 

By the time Thor’s story came to a close and the valiant warriors saved the beautiful mermaids from the vicious monster, Phil and Clint had set the food out on the table. 

“Oh, my dear comrades!” Thor boomed, “What a wonderful feast you have procured!”

Cara giggled nonsensically beside the massive god, and Natasha got this funny face as Phil and Clint rolled their eyes in tandem.

“Cara, honey, go wash up before you eat.” Clint ordered, and the little girl skipped away without a care in the world. Bruce dutifully followed after her to do the same, and the others all gathered drinks and silverware and plates.

By the time Cara and Bruce returned and everybody settled down to spoon food onto their plates, Phil’s phone rang. He answered it, face drawn, and relayed to the team, “There are reports of aliens attacking Times Square. _Avengers assemble_!”

Everybody immediately leapt into action, pushing plates away and moving to sprint down hallways, calling for weapons and suits and god-gifted hammers. 

Except for Clint. 

Clint just stood there, in the center of the chaos, staring at his daughter with her wide eyes expanding into saucers as her precious aunts and uncles roared around her.

“ _Hawkeye_!” Tony shouted from across the room, red and gold plates of iron flying to him immediately, “ _Suit up_!”

Clint looked to Phil, who had his eyes glued to the marksman, “Phil,” He said, voice barely wavering, “I can’t.”

Phil nodded and even through the chaos, he understood, “It’s okay, Hawkeye. Stay here. We’ve got this handled. We can figure this out later.”

Cara could only watch as her family jumped off balconies into the air and raced toward elevators in tight suits and deadly weapons. 

Clint wrapped an arm around his daughter, pulling her close and kissing her head, resolutely ordering the priorities in his life in his mind: 1- Cara; 2-himself ( _see: 1_ ); 3- Phil ( _wow, when did that happen_ ); 4- saving the world.

“It’s okay, little Bean. They’ll be back.” And when he kissed the top of his daughter’s head, he forced himself not to think about Phil running right into battle without him to watch his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so that's that! I hope you liked it!
> 
> ***
> 
> So, here's the dealio. 
> 
> I kinda have two more chapters of this story vaguely outlined/written out/in first stage of drafting, etc (I think at the moment, chapter 2 itself is at 7k words but it's only halfdone and no doubt subject to some rigorous future editing. Chapter 2 is supposed to focus on Clint and Phil getting together, so I hope y'all are into that). But anyway, if y'all liked this I would definitely appreciate it if you let me know or gave me some ideas, maybe even what you think Cara should be like some more, etc, feedback of every kinda is appreciated. So yeah that's that and thanks for reading, babes :)
> 
> *******
> 
> Also, feel free to check me out on tumblr, i'm livingtheobsessedlife


	2. Clint’s Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is supposed to be Clint and Phil getting together, dancing around one another for awhile while Cara grows up a little. The thing is though, I suck at the slow burn, so really it's just them being cute and shockingly oblivious. Have fun

“Cara? Honey?” Clint asked, leaning in front of his daughter and making sure to keep his voice low and steady, “We need to talk to you, okay?”

Cara bounced her doll in her lap and looked expectantly at the array of superheroes that huddled around her.

“Do you know what we do for a living?”

Cara opened her mouth, ready to answer, but then shut her jaw as she realized she didn't, “ _No_.”

“Well, the easy answer, is that we’re superheroes.” Cara made a satisfied humming noise, “We fight bad guys, which means we sometimes get hurt.”

And Cara frowned at that. She was still young, not even in school yet and just starting to read, but she definitely knew that she didn't like it when people she loved got hurt. 

It had been three days since the last Avengers mission, the one where Clint had stayed behind for his daughter's sake, and Clint had finally deemed it time to read his daughter in on her family's danger vocation.

“Are you going to get hurt, Daddy?”

Clint almost said no and moved on, but if his childhood had taught him one thing above all, it was that sweet promises and white lies were infinitely worse than harsh realities.

“Maybe, honey.” He answered truthfully, hating that frown on his daughter’s face.

Cara looked up at her aunts and uncles, “Will you guys get hurt, too, then?”

They nodded as a collective whole, remaining in silence so as to allow Clint to do his fatherly job as Lecturer To Cara.

“Is that where you all went when Uncle Thor was here? To be superheroes?”

“Yes,” Clint said, stroking Cara’s hair, forever marvelling in its innocent gold, “I stayed behind with you then, but, honey, soon I’m going to have to go back to work.”

“To being a superhero?”

“Yes, darling.”

Cara sat for a long minute, contemplating with her bottom lip sticking out as all the people that loved her most in the world watched her with curious edge.

“Daddy, if you're superheroes,” She asked quietly, “Does that mean you all have superpowers?”

“I guess it does, yeah.”

Cara lit up, looking at them expectantly, “What can you guys _do_?”

Clint stammered for a moment, and thankfully Tony smirked and answered in earnest (Tony was freakishly good with saying the words that needed to be said when nobody knew how to say them, it was unexpected and Clint was forever thankful for it), “I have a metal suit that can shoot lasers and fly. So, basically, I'm awesome.” Tony shrugged smugly, and Cara giggled.

Thor boomed happily, “I am the God of Thunder, wielder of Mjolnir,”

Tony leaned toward Cara and said at a stage whisper, “He can make lightning.”

And so that was how they went, everybody reciting their superpowers and Tony making smartass remarks to make it all sound a whole lot more humane.

Steve blushed and said, “I’m really strong.”

Tony chortled, “I think your biggest super power is that you can snore super loudly.” Which got a giggle from Cara, then he continued, “Plus he’s _super old_.” And Tony wasn't exactly wrong, so Steve didn't bother arguing.

By the time everybody had admitted what they did, Clint nervously explaining what a marksman was and Natasha attempting to find the nice way to say _badass assassin_ , Cara was mellowed and giggling and feeling much better about the whole ‘all your closest family are superheroes who might die at any time’ thing.

“But wait,” Cara said, kicking her legs contentedly back and forth, “What does Phil do?”

“Oh, I’m not a superhero.”

“That’s not true! You’re the best superhero I know!” Clint said, dead serious, “His superpower is that he’s the Avenger of Avengers.”

“Woah,” Cara gaped at Phil in awe, “That’s awesome!”

Clint grinned at Phil, “It totally is.”

And if nobody said anything about the way Phil grinned proudly back, then that was neither here nor there. 

*************

Clint and Cara and Phil (Clint always insisted Phil come with them on account of him working too much and forgetting what the sun looked like far too often to be healthy) got back to the tower early one day after their weekly park visit (cut short due to bitchy weather and an even bitchier Clint) to find a bustle of activity hemorrhaging around the epicenter that was Cara’s room.

Tony’s voice rang through the apartment as the elevator doors opened for the three of them, “ _They’re early! Oh good God, they’re early_!”

Strangers raced about, frantically gathering tool buckets and tool boxes and pails full of paint and soldering irons left teetering on dumb ledges. Tony, standing like a mad scientist in the center of the chaos, was directing contractors in this direction and that. Nobody noticed Phil move to stand in Cara’s doorway, a frown settled across the stern line of his lips. 

“What is going _on_?” Phil hollered, one hand wrapped around Cara’s little hand and the other perched angrily on his hip, fully constructing his stone-cold Agent Coulson Handler Extraordinaire reputation except for the Amy Little Pony backpack slung over his right shoulder. 

Pepper stepped in front of him, all business from her alarmingly high heels to her wrinkle-free business suit to the StarkPad perched perfectly in her hand. The only blip in her pristine CEO appearance was the white Stark Industries hard hat balanced on top of her golden hair (Clint always liked it when Pepper came around- Cara needed a strong female role model within all the testosterone that was Avengers Tower that wasn’t a traumatized, Russian assassin).

“Phil, I'm sorry about this. Really. We thought we had a few more hours to finish the surprise.”

And of course, as soon as anybody says the word ‘surprise’ all six-year-olds come running. Within a matter of seconds, Cara jumped into Tony’s arms, “You got me a surprise?”

Tony smiled, because as much as he denied it, he had a _total_ soft spot for Cara Barton, “Well, I was _going_ to get you one. But you ruined it.”

“No, no, no! I didn’t ruin it! I can just pretend I never saw any of these people!”

“Are you _sure_ you can do that?”

“Yes!”

“Of course you can, you’re right! You’re Cara!” Tony henceforth proceeded to tickle the little girl mercilessly. 

“What was the surprise?” Clint asked Pepper off to the side, obviously uneasy. 

“We were trying to renovate her room.” Pepper answered simply, “See?” Then turned to display a sketch of impeccable room designs on her StarkPad.

Clint wanted to argue, because renovations and surprises are Dad Things, but it was all actually sort of sweet, and he never would have been able to come up with such awesome room designs on his own, so he just sorta remained quiet and eyes all the strange contractors that got even remotely close to his daughter and Tony Stark. 

He hadn’t even noticed it at first, but in the far corner, somewhere around the area that Cara usually kept her dolls, Steve was crouched as small as he could get, focusing intently on a stencil against the wall and purple paint and a delicate paint brush. Then Clint noticed Bruce wearing a hard hat that matched Pepper’s leaning against a table and scribbling out some math on a scrap piece of paper before helping out with some carpentry or something along the lines. Natasha was hanging girly, dangly things from the ceiling. Thor was helping to touch up and repaint the harder-to-reach parts of the ceiling trim. The entire team was helping out. 

When Clint looked back at Cara, Tony and Pepper were talking to her excitedly and she was smiling back just as eagerly. They were no doubt detailing all the exciting tidbits of her new room. Tony had outfitted many gadgets into the walls themselves, each and every one of his own design, of course, and Pepper had eagerly delved into a little girl’s theme as she took up the task of Interior Decorator (the walls are purple and puppies and kitties are stenciled in a pattern around the four walls).

It’s crazy, all of it. So much for one little girl.

Clint looked at Phil with wide eyes because _this is crazy_ , but he could never deny it was sweet beyond sweet and he would always feel just a little in debt to Pepper Potts and Tony Stark and all the rest of the Avengers for making his little girl feel like a loved little girl with a wonderful family like she deserved. 

Clint’s eyes drifted from Phil as Cara giggled loudly from across the room where Tony had hoisted Cara onto his shoulders, “So you like your room now, Little chickadee ?”

“It’s _awesome_ , Uncle Tony!”

Tony only grinned, “Happy birthday, string bean.”

Cara giggled again when Natasha swung trapeze-style from her perilous spot on the ceiling to tickle her niece’s sides.

Two weeks later, Cara got even more presents on top of her room upgrade. SHIELD agents came to visit the little girl that the Avengers incessantly raved about, brought her gifts and hellos and birthday salutations (Cara was only in it for the presents and the cake and the being around her family, bless her heart, but the attention was definitely an added bonus).

Sitwell came and apparently had absolutely no idea how to interact with kids, and Clint was mildly terrified that Maria might accidentally hurt his little girl if they were left alone for lack of understanding of a child's exact pain threshold and general interests, but it’s the thought that counts, he supposes.

Nick Fury himself even made a memorable visit, and every adult in the room fucking _froze_ when Cara made a giggling grab for his eye patch. Turns out, Fury was surprisingly not bad with kids, but Clint still had an almost-heart-attack. 

Pepper and Natasha and Phil took Cara on a shopping spree the day before her birthday, and when she came back she immediately incited a fashion show for Clint, with Natasha as the scarily enthusiastic emcee. Pepper helped the young girl change while Phil sat beside Clint with a running commentary of his own about his thoughts of the little girl’s new clothes. Clint just sat back and smiled. 

Tony made a Robocat (Cara decided to name it Kate as it purred contentedly at her feet before strutting away) as a companion for her Robodog, Lucky. Cara smiled as she pulled the cat by it’s tail and into her lap ( _“Don’t do that, Bots. Cats don’t like being pulled by their tails and neither do AIs” “Okay, Uncle Tony. I’m sorry.” “Happy birthday, Zoomer”_ ). Clint himself smiled when he realized rather pointedly that the robotic cat wasn't orange.

Bruce got her a potted plant in an attempt to teach the little girl about biology and living things, and though the thought was nice, all Cara did was enthusiastically name it then put it somewhere that it wouldn't receive proper sunlight. Steve got the little, blonde treasure a fancy set of sparkly crayons all of her own and a sketchbook that she could use. It was no Robocat, but it was Steve’s way of reaching out and teaching their precious ‘Avenger in the making’. 

His little girl is utterly spoiled, and Clint thinks he might just love that. 

*********

Clint _constantly_ worried about Cara’s security. 

Sure, living in a superhero frat house had a fear-factor security system of its own as well as the high tech system Stark bought (and designed), plus JARVIS and SHIELD protection. For the most part, the Tower was the safest place Cara could be. 

But there was also the fact that having an Avenger/secret agent/superhero for a father put a certain target on your back, and Clint never, ever stopped looking over his shoulder.

Clint woke up after a particularly trying mission sore to the bone and creaking with exhaustion, but trudged toward the kitchen nonetheless, knowing full well his daughter wouldn't let him sleep in, broken ribs and bruised arms or no. 

He walked in to find Phil already there, “Clint,” He said, “You should be resting.”

But Clint was already making a beeline for the coffee pot, “Cara is gonna need breakfast.”

“I can make it for her.” 

“I can do it just fine.”

“You have three broken ribs and bruises all up your arms. You must be exhausted.”

“I am,” Clit chuckled drily, “But Cara comes first.”

“I know she does, but-”

Phil was cut off by the bustling entrance of Steve and Tony, already bickering despite the early hour.

“What are you two doing up? How are you all not exhausted and in pain?! Stark, Medical explicitly explained to you that you have a concussion! You should be resting!”

“ _Mild concussion_.” Tony corrected 

“We haven't seen Cara in almost a week,” Steve supplied dutifully over Tony’s egoistic smirk, and he shrugged with a small smile that _screamed_ of Classic Captain America, “Figured she’d be down here for breakfast.”

As Phil glared incredulously at the superheroes before him, Natasha silently slipped into the seat next to Clint as she shuffled into the kitchen, Bruce following behind with a yawn. 

Thor tumbled in with his iconic Bed Head, his typically disciplined hair sticking in all directions, “Good morning, Princess Barton!” He cheered as Cara skipped into the room, giggling. 

“Good morning, Uncle Thor!” Cara immediately skipped over to her father and pressed a kiss to his cheek, “What’s for breakfast, daddy?”

“I’m making pancakes.” Phil answered for him (Clint frowned, but hummed in resigned agreement because dammit if there was any point in fighting with Phil after he’d announced something to Cara and meant it)

The Avengers teetered tiredly on bar stools as Cara rambled and sang kicked her feet back and forth and Phil cooked breakfast. Steve read the morning paper and tried to make sense of the twisted politics and complex sports competitions and Tony picked up the toaster and declared he was going to trick it out ( _again_ ). Clint watched his daughter from across the room and Bruce and Natasha engaged themselves in a tired and fruitless game of Thumb War to keep themselves occupied. 

All was good for what felt like the first time in a month. Cara was incredibly cheery, and despite the expected soreness, so were the Avengers. 

That was, until the message came. 

It was anonymous and sent to them all by somebody who must have had scarily impressive abilities if they could bypass JARVIS’s internal security systems. 

‘ _I’M WATCHING YOU, LITTLE GIRL_ ’, the message flashed in bright, bold letters, and the Avengers collectively froze. Faces were shadowed in definitive glares as Cara continued kicking her feet beneath the table and spilling syrup across her pajamas, having no idea what was going on. 

Clint didn't take the time to chastise his daughter’s messiness as a particularly large glob of syrup and butter dropped into her lap. He turned to Tony, a fire on his face, entirely demanding, “Who is this?”

“I’ll figure it out.” Tony growled, and just like that he was off to his lab, determined to counteract the unveiled threat against the Avengers’ favorite child and identify the aggressor (so that the team could later track him down and beat him to a pulp, ideally).

Clint knelt in front of his daughter, his expression more serious than she had ever seen, darker even than when he had plucked her from a fire and promised her all the love he could. She watched him intently as he spoke.

“Cara, honey? We’re gonna stay inside the tower for a couple days, okay?”

She frowned despite herself, her naivety shining brightly, “Why, daddy?”

He struggled with an answer for a moment and Phil saved him with a confident white lie, careful not to scare her in this case, “Because we want to spend more time with you.”

Cara wasn't sure she believed him, but she trusted Phil almost as much as she trusted Clint, so she nodded and held onto her dad’s hands just a little tighter. She’d never seen him like this. 

“Darling,” Clint continued, “We’re gonna teach you some stuff, okay? All of us. We’ll teach you what we do, how does that sound?”

“Am I gonna be a superhero?” She beamed, and Clint frowned ( _She wasn’t gonna be a superhero if he could help it- way too dangerous_ ).

Clint tried to crack a very deliberate smile anyway, “No, but you’ll be able to fight like one.”

Cara smiled eagerly, “Okay, daddy!”

Later, Clint dragged Cara away from her dolls, “Come on, baby. I’m gonna teach you some things.”

Cara then proceeded to stare in awe as her beloved father shot perfectly at targets, then holding her shoulders steady as he let her have a miniature-sized go at it. 

Figures she was a natural. 

Steve taught her how to throw a punch and Natasha taught her how to duck one. 

Tony outfitted little Cara with a small watch containing a Help Button and a GPS tracking system, carefully teaching the girl how to use it ( _“Now remember, jelly bean, it’s only for emergencies.” “I know, Uncle Tony, I know. Can I put it on now?” “Of course! Why else would I have made it pink?!”_ ) 

Bruce sat down with Cara and taught her some of his meditation and breathing techniques, just in case.

Thor didn't have much help to offer considering Cara couldn't exactly wield Mjolnir and he only had godly knowledge, but he insisted on teaching Cara an Asgardian serenity ritual that had proved to provide courage and placidity in times of distress. 

The most important of all, Clint thought as he sat enraptured, was when Phil sat down with Cara and explained to her the power of honesty, manners, politeness, asking for help, and a really good, intimidating _glare_ (his example was one Clint recognized from his time as a junior agent), and Clint chuckled from the corner, utterly, _utterly_ enraptured in Phil Coulson’s teachings.

*************

“All due respect, sir,” Coulson bounded into Fury’s office, all business, no-nonsense, “But what the hell is Barton doing suspended?”

A muscle in Fury’s jaw twitched and really Phil should have seen it coming. He knew Nick Fury well enough to know that was his Mischief Twitch.

“Barton couldn’t follow orders,”

“Because of his _daughter_ , sir!”

“Yes, and that interfered with his job.”

Phil tapped his foot, doing his best to keep from anger-pacing, “So you’re telling me, that we are now _punishing_ our notoriously emotionally-stunted agents for putting their families before themselves?”

Fury made a weird noise in the back of his throat, holding back a smirk, “You’ve never had a problem with it in the past, agent.”

Phil flushed then, because _oops_ ,” Yeah, well, Barton, is-um…” Phil stuttered, stopped, took a breath, “ _Crap_.”

Fury didn't even try to hide that damn grin of his anymore, “ _Cheese_ ,” He said, making sure to use Phil’s nickname from back in their army days, laughing, “You got it bad.”

Phil stuttered. Nick laughed harder, his one eye crinkling. Phil really should have seen this coming.

“I’ll rescind his suspension, don’t worry about it.”

Phil was about to protest, for some odd instinctual reason, then shrunk because this was what he had come in for, wasn’t it? He tugged at his sleeves, straightening himself out, “Well, is that all then, sir?”

“Yes, Coulson,” Fury answered, still grinning minutely, “You’re excused.”

Nick Fury would deny it to his deathbed (beyond that, too, because let’s be honest, who could really _kill_ Nick Fury?), but if he spun around and laughed aloud in his swivel chair as Phil shut his office door behind him, then that was nobody’s business except for his.

**********

Enrolling Cara in kindergarten had somehow become a full-family experience (Clint wasn't completely sure when he started thinking of these people as his family and not just his coworkers, but he was pretty sure it was sometime between when Tony dropped everything and an important Stark Industries meeting to fix Cara’s broken toy and when everybody watched with hesitation as the Hulk miraculously interacted gently with her). 

Naturally, the whole discussion had devolved into a full-fledged Avengers Civil War; one in which _garlic breadsticks_ were the primary mode of artillery. 

Each Avenger had thought that different things were important in a kindergarten and that had somehow lead to Clint pulling himself into an air vent as Iron Man launched a fiery breadstick at the wall. In the small space, Clint backed up directly into Natasha, who literally _growled_ at him. Things had all happened so fast.

While Clint never had traditional schooling, he still wanted the best for his daughter, and so, apparently, did the rest of the avengers. Steve had started it, really, by quietly insisting that Clint should make sure the school had an immaculate art program because, according to him, Cara had an artistic gift (Clint always just thought Cara’s drawings looked like squiggles, but to each his own, he supposed). 

Tony, of course, had to henceforth insert his opinion and demand that the most important part when choosing a school was that it could be funded/bribed by Stark himself, so that Cara got the best treatment she deserved. Clint wasn’t quite sure if he wanted his daughter linked to precarious Tony Stark bribes, but he appreciated the thought. 

Bruce rolled his eyes and turned to Clint with an earnest expression, “As long as the school you choose has an impressive science program, Cara will be on a great track.”

Meanwhile, Natasha looked quite threatening, sharpening her knives with her feet stretched out on the table, “The most important thing to remember? A good security system. That’s all that matters.”

Tony chortled, “If you pick one that I can bribe, then I’ll just buy them a good security system and all that other stuff.”

“But, Tony,” Steve said, “That’s wrong. Do you really want to teach Cara that she can just buy everything in life?”

“And do you really want to teach her that an artistic career is the smartest way to go, Cap?” Tony rebuked, “Because art is not a real job.”

Steve pouted a little, “Tony, _that’s not true_!” and Bruce made another comment somewhere along the lines of, “Hey! _Science_ is a great field!”

Only, Clint couldn’t hear him over Tony’s bickering and Thor’s enthusiastic offer of, “Young Hawk, I would love to take your daughter to Asgard so she may receive a proper Asgardian education, like all true and proper children deserve.”

Clint couldn’t be positive, but he was pretty sure that Steve Rogers, Captain America of all people, had been the first Avenger to throw a breadstick, the initial shot aimed perfectly at the center of Tony’s forehead.

Nearly half an hour later, Clint’s temper met its end, and he burst out of an air vent on the opposite side of the room that he had went in, “You know what? That’s enough!” (He channeled his best Cara-You’re-Not-Supposed-To-Eat-Sugar-Before-Bedtime scolding voice and hoped his SHIELD-issued glare was enough)

“Maybe I don't know the difference between a good school and a bad one, but Cara is my daughter! Mine! And as much as I appreciate all of your help, I don't think a food fight is the right answer.”

Clint watched as Tony slowly lowered the breadstick he had high in the air to his sides, and Steve looked to his feet. Phil stepped out from where he had bowed behind an upturned table. Natasha silently swung out of another air vent, discreetly pulling breadsticks out of her utility belt. 

“Now, it’s about time I put my little girl to sleep, so I’d appreciate it if you all left.”

They nodded solemnly and Clint had never felt like more of a Stern Dad in all his Dad Life. Bruce muttered a quiet, “Sorry, Clint.” As he walked toward the elevators with the others, immensely apologetic. 

“Phil,” Clint managed before the elevator doors closed,”Can you stay behind for a second?”

Natasha’s lips made a peculiar quirk as she watched Phil carefully step out. The metal doors closed behind him, and Clint allowed himself to finally collapse into a chair, biting into a breadstick that Thor had frighteningly roasted with Mjolnir’s lightning, “God, I need help, Phil.” He breathed out, exhausted.

“But I thought you didn't want-”

“I didn't want _their_ help,” Clint said quickly, waving vaguely at the aftermath of The Great Kindergarten Debate, “They have too many biased opinions. But you? You just want what’s best for Cara, and you want her to be happy. So, what do you think?”

Phil watched Clint carefully as he sat down beside him, “Well,” He started, “There were two schools that I had narrowed it down to and really liked. They’re both private, but I also found a public one nearby if that’s what you want. However, we have Tony on our side so, private shouldn’t be a problem. Across the board, both of the schools have very solid programs and advertise deep, interpersonal care between students, faculty, and peers.” Phil continued even as he pulled two pamphlets out of his inexplicable suit jacket. 

Clint listened intently and mindlessly wondered how in the world Coulson was so good at this. 

********

Cara may be the adopted daughter of a superhero, the doted child of the Avengers, and a clever girl overall, but she was still a little girl, and despite everything, of course she still got scared by loud noises and dark nights and things she couldn't see or control or understand. 

She let out another sob, clutching onto Clint’s shirt like he would disappear if she let go, as another clap of thunder reverberated against the night’s spinning starlight. 

“ _Daddy_!” Cara wept into her father’s collar, “I don't like it.”

“I know, sweetie, I know. It’s just a storm.” 

Clint’s reassurances did absolutely nothing to mollify Cara’s spirits. In fact, she sobbed even harder as lightning terrifyingly lit up the room. Clint hugged her close and hushed her, but it was looking like he was just going to have to wait out the tears. 

Phil poked into the Barton living room, “How’re you doing, Care Bear?”

Cara was bawling and didn't pause for even a moment to answer. Phil looked meaningfully at Clint, stepping sympathetically toward the little girl in her father’s arms and kneeling in front of her. 

“Scared of the storm?”

She nodded through tears. 

“Well,” Phil said, rubbing a soft hand across her small back, “Just think about it as Uncle Thor saying hello.”

Cara sniffed but didn't say anything. 

“It’s been awhile since you’ve seen him, yeah?”

She sniffed again and hummed, barely tearing herself away from Clint so she could look at Phil. She watched him, eyes wet and red as thunder and lightning exploded around them like nature’s fireworks. She wrapped a rough hand around Phil’s wrist, her lower lip sticking out beneath her teeth. 

“Will you stay with me?” She asked sweetly 

Phil looked to Clint, who smiled minutely, and said, “Of course, Care Bear,” as he settled into Cara’s other side. 

With the expressive storm as their backdrop, the two SHIELD agents watched as Cara drifted off to sleep. 

When his daughter’s breathing evened and her grip on him loosened and he was sure she was asleep, Clint smiled at Phil, “That was… _impressive_.”

“Honestly, I hadn't really expected that to work.”

“Well, you handle her really well.”

Phil smiled back then _because oh god does he have it bad_ , and said, “If the Thor thing didn't work, I was gonna tell her the angels are bowling, that’s what my parents told me when I was a kid.”

Clint snorted at that, smiling as he sank comfortably into his daughter’s side.

“Good night, Phil.” He whispered tiredly, his eyes closing and his fingers instinctively clutching at his daughter just a little tighter. 

Phil sat there for a minute and watched them drift into harmless dreamlands before going to sleep himself with a small smile still touching his lips.

**********

“D-daddy?” Cara mumbled tiredly when Clint pushed at her shoulder, waking her up, “Why are you dressed?”

He forced a smile, “I have work today, sweetheart. I wanted to say goodbye before I left.”

That got her to sit up, “You’re leaving?”

“I’ll be back before six, don’t worry, honey.”

She held onto his hand, still tired and weak and heavy-lidded, “But who will play Pirates and Mermaids with me?”

Clint forced a grin, “Phil is staying with you for today, and I'm sure Steve will be around. You have school coming up soon, honey, it won’t be like this forever.”

Cara frowned, thought for a long decisive moment, then nodded, “Okay, daddy. You can go to work, but can you make me breakfast before you go? Phil doesn’t make waffles as good as you.”

Clint didn’t have to force that grin, “I already did, sweet pea.”

“Thanks, daddy. Can I go back to sleep for a little while?”

“Of course. Phil will be here when you wake up.” He paused, watching her settle deep into her blankets with a plush Captain America shield pillow tucked tightly beneath her arm (Clint didn’t have to wonder who got her that, and it wasn’t the Captain who owned the real shield, no, it was most definitely the fanboy who loved the real shield as much as the real guy), “Have a good day, sweetheart.”

At his lunch hour, Clint checked his phone to find a text from Phil: an attachment captioned with a smiley face. He opened the attachment to find a sunny selfie of his daughter delightedly posing with a fork and knife in front of her syrup-laden homemade waffles beside Phil’s reassuring smile of his own. Clint felt just a little better about leaving his daughter that morning. He was lucky it had been an easy day back, or he wasn’t sure he would have made it, even with Phil’s knowing reassurances.

*************

One day, while Clint and Phil were working in the living room of Clint’s suite (both of them rather studiously _not thinking_ about how close the other was and how much of ' _just friends_ ' they were), a small shriek erupted from Cara’s room and Clint immediately raced into his little girl’s room (his SHIELD skills compounded by his Dad Instincts meant that he was pretty sure it was some kind of national record for room racing, but whatever, not his main concern). Phil was right behind him. 

“What’s wrong, Cara? Are you hurt?”

The young girl was standing on top of her bed, jumping up and down slightly, tears forming in her eyes, “Sp-spider!” She whimpered. 

Clint frowned and scanned the room for the eight-legged menace that made his little girl cry, but before he spotted the brown insect, Phil was lunging across the room and squishing his foot into the carpet.

“Don't worry, Care-Bear,” Phil said, making sure to use the affectionate nickname he had coined especially for Cara, “I got it. It’s dead.”

Cara easily collapsed onto the bed, “Thank goodness! You saved me, Phil!” She shrieked theatrically (Tony would be proud of the sheer volume, let alone the unadulterated _drama_ in her swooning voice), throwing her arms around Phil’s neck.

It was sweet, but for some reason, all Clint could think about was the absolute trust that Cara had just shown Phil. Killing spiders had been a job for Clint. Always Clint. It was one of those Dad Things, and now, Cara was trusting Phil to do Dad Things, and Clint was pretty sure he...liked that

*********

Clint could honestly say that this was not how he had expected the his daughter’s first day of kindergarten to start off. Five Avengers other than her dad, a SHIELD agent in an impeccable suit, and a frazzled CEO all in one kitchen at 6 in the morning was an oddity in and of itself, but today was special, so, naturally, Clint was particularly anxious about, well, _everything_.

When Steve pushed a stack of pancakes to Cara, she giggled and didn’t even notice the way everybody in the room froze for a moment and fondly stared at her while she ate (okay, _creepy_ , but they’re protective and they’ll never stop- _sorry, Clint_ ).

With it being the resilient Cara Barton and all, she carried on eating her breakfast like she was feeding off of rainbows and glitter. All of breakfast, she rattled with excitement as if it was a completely normal day, ranting about everything from My Little Pony to the newest Captain America cartoon (Phil smirked delightedly from the kitchen when she started up on _that_ conversation).

Cara took the last bite of pancake then glanced happily up to her dad, smiling, “Time for school?”

Clint inhaled a sharp, careful breath, “Yep, looks like it.”

“Thanks for the pancakes, Phil!” Cara yelped as she bounded out of her seat and toward the couch where she had left her stuffed Avengers-themed backpack (Clint had tried to convince her that the My Little Pony one was more suitable, but she had insisted on the Avengers one, which he would eternally find adorable). She fixed her flowered headband and looked to her dad again, smiling wide, “Alright, let’s go.”

Clint can’t help but chuckle at his little girl’s naivety and happiness, fresh and excitable and she demands and demands and he loves it, “Let me get my shoes, girly-girl.”

He took about five steps before realizing all of the other Avengers were grabbing at their shoes and jackets, too. 

He frowned, looking incredulous and a little bit wacko with only one shoe on, “What are you guys doing?”

Natasha honest-to-god rolled her eyes all the way back as if to say _oh my god, you're such an imbecile_ , and verbalized, “We’re taking Cara to school, Clint.”

“Oh. Look, guys, I’m sorry, but… I kinda wanted this to be a me and Cara thing, just me and her, y’know? I mean, kindergarten is a big deal, and I appreciate that you all want to be there for her, but I’m not entirely sure it will help Cara make friends if she’s escorted to school on the first day by a troop of superheros.”

Tony huffs out an indignant breath and takes a pointed step forward to argue (it’s nothing more than reflex for Stark to argue, argue, argue when people tell him he can’t do something, the Avengers understand), but Steve reaches a sensible arm out to stop him, “That makes sense, Clint. Go take care of your daughter.” 

Clint is entirely prepared to do just that except for the fact that now the entire Avengers, Captain America included- _national icon and American hero and all that_ -look at him with big puppy dog eyes and he slumps a little, “But, I guess you guys can come with me to pick her up.”

They instantly absolutely fucking _beam_ , and Clint takes his little girl to school.

In the end, Clint had specifically chosen the private school of Coulson’s choice because it was within walking distance for this very reason, so he was right there, holding her hand the whole way. 

They stood in front of the looming brick building, boring with excitement and opportunities that Clint never quite had. Clint wasn’t ready to let go yet, but Cara apparently was nonplussed by the entire situation.

“Bye, daddy!” Cara squealed, jumping up to press a sloppy kiss to her dad’s cheek before running into the school. 

Sometime between the time that he heard the first bell ring at her new school and when he got back to Avengers Tower, Clint realized how _fast_ Cara was growing up and he also realized that that fact makes him pretty fucking depressed. He somehow wandered back to the Tower on autopilot. 

When he slinked into the communal kitchen, he hadn't expected the rest of his cohorts to still be there as he sank into a chair to munch on lukewarm pancakes, but they were, and for some reason they all looked almost as forlorn as he did. They were all eerily quiet, awkward statues of people that were known to be _loud_ , and they tentatively watched Clint much like they had watched Cara. 

Clint felt himself sink into his coffee, “My little girl is growing up.” He said, fighting so that his voice didn’t crack embarrassingly into oblivion. 

Nobody was quite sure what to say. Clint had always been a wild card that kept his emotions in a jar on a high, _high_ shelf and he didn’t typically announce said emotions to a room full of emotionally-stunted superheros (and one good looking SHIELD agent and a devoted CEO). This was completely uncharted terrains. 

Finally Phil stepped toward him, because he’s Phil. He pat Clint, slowly and surely and steady, on the back and didn’t say anything because nothing needed to be said. 

They’re all in unanimous agreement. They feel old and lonely without Cara’s light bouncing around the house. Her RoboPets were plugged in somewhere in her room, asleep without her, and her dolls were tucked away (except for the one that she had smuggled into her backpack when she thought Clint wasn’t looking), and everything was _eerily quiet_. 

Clint involuntarily leaned into the warm, comforting palm on his back even as he looked down at his watch, sighed, and announced, “ _Six hours and 32 minutes_.”

********

“Dad, can I have a slumber party?”

Clint froze, “Why?”

“Because they look fun.”

“Did something happen at school?”

“No.”

“Did something happen on the playground?”

“No.”

“Then, what made you want a slumber party?”

Cara rolled her eyes and leaned over the couch, pushing Clint’s book away with stunning finality, “Because it sounds fun, daddy.”

Clint stared hesitantly, “Well,” He said, “Who would you invite?”

And of course Cara brightened incredibly at the proposition, “Uncle Tony and Uncle Steve and Uncle Bruce and Auntie Tasha and Phil and Pepper and you!”

Clint relaxed into a smile because _oh, that’s kinda adorable_ , “Alright, I’ll think about it.”

Cara smiled and jumped up to press an effervescent kiss to her dad’s cheek, “Yay! Thanks, daddy!” Then she ran off to the elevator, presumably to find Tony and ramble about slumber parties or play with his circuits or whatever they did when they holed up in his lab together like they did so often.

Naturally, it didn't take long for Clint to agree to Cara’s slumber party request. 

Pepper and Tony, of course, go all out in their planning. 

There were sleeping bags and snacks (of the popcorn, cheese puff, candy, and pretzel varieties, respectively) and fruit punch and fun sleepover lights that Pepper hung whimsically around the communal living room and look like tiny purple fairy lanterns. 

Tony got everybody Avenger-themed flannel pj’s. His had a pair with Iron Man helmets, Steve’s had miniature versions of his patriotic shield, Bruce’s had a green fist, Thor’s had a certain topheavy hammer, Clint’s were dotted with purple bow and arrows, Natasha’s had her crimson hourglass logo, Phil’s had little ties on it (he glared menacingly at Tony when he walked into the living room, but wore them anyway), and Pepper’s had peppers on them (yes, the vegetable, she jabbed Tony in the side when he handed them over with that smirk of his, utterly unamused, but Tony was sure that she was secretly in love with them, so it was all fine). Cara’s pajamas had all the Avengers’ symbols on them, and she absolutely _adored_ them (Cara subsequently made an emblazoned declaration that she was going to wear them every night from then on). 

There were blankets everywhere, and it was all very fun and adorable. But the most exciting part for Cara was the karaoke machine that Tony had made especially for her (it's totally awesome and loaded with TONS of songs and unlike any karaoke machine ever before and Cara gave Tony the sweetest hug around his hips, as that was how far she reached, when he theatrically showed it off to his favorite little girl).

Obviously, Cara almost immediately decreed that she was going to force everybody to sing at least once.

Tony jumped at the chance and dragged Steve along with him, where they henceforth proceeded to clamber on top of the coffee table and duet serenade Bruce, which was fun and hilarious and caused Cara to delightfully giggle madly, absolutely, positively having the time of her life.

Clint sat in a corner and looked miserable. As a kid, sleepovers and slumber parties had never exactly been a priority in his life and now sitting in the loud room in his archer-themed pajamas, he has no idea what he was supposed to be doing.

Natasha appeared seemingly out of nowhere and she pushed a glass of fruit punch into Clint’s hand, “It’s spiked.” She said, grinning passively and pulling out a flask from some pocket of her pajamas.

“Why do you get pockets?” Clint complained just to complain even as he took a long pull from the fruity drink. 

Natasha wiggled her fingers in sarcastic goodbye and wordlessly wandered, cat-like, to the opposite end of the room. 

It took four spiked fruit punches to really, truly get Clint properly drunk, but oh boy did he get there eventually. By that point, Cara had enthusiastically decided it was time that her daddy sang, oblivious to his near-worrisome intoxication levels, and she grabbed at his hand and yanked him to the makeshift stage (the coffee table, in reality) in the center of the living room.

Tony began a spirited chant of Clint’s name that Thor loudly chimed in on as Clint climbed onto the table and crouched in front of the karaoke machine. When Cara wasn’t looking, Clint made a rather crude hand gesture in Tony’s direction that received an appreciative chuckle from Bruce. 

The soft beginnings of an acoustic guitar trilled out of the karaoke machine, and Clint began to sing along (rather off key _and_ off beat, but sing nonetheless).

“ _I’ve been spending all my time, just thinking about ya, I don’t know what to do, I think I’m fallin’ for youuuu,_ ” He sang (Clint was not known for his singing voice, and there was a reason for that)

Every fresh line of the song, Clint would focus his eyes on Phil, as if he was singing directly to him, but of course, _that would be just plain silly_ , Phil reasoned with himself, because Clint was most obviously incredibly drunk and he clearly just enjoyed cheesy early 2000’s acoustic love songs. Everybody knew that. The problem with this ‘ _incredibly reasonable_ ’ (and entirely _false_ ) logic of Phil’s, was that Phil himself was quite drunk and Phil was quite enjoying Clint’s singing, despite the off notes and… oh no.

Clint finished the song off with a dramatic flourish and stepped off of the table with a bow, nearly tripping over himself in the process. Phil caught him by the upper arm and smiled softly, trying his damnedest not to stare too long at Clint’s goofy grin. 

A mere two songs later (Tony sang a horrific cover of a Backstreet Boys song that Cara didn't recognize, making every adult in the room sufficiently feel downright ancient, and Pepper and Natasha sang a beautiful duet of an Adele song that Cara thankfully _did_ recognize), Phil’s drunk ass was reluctantly dragged onto the stage for his turn to sing. 

In not-so-subtle drunken retaliation (they’re all completely drunk- as soon as Natasha’s spiking plan was leaked, they were all doing it), Phil started up on a song just as hilariously sappy as Clint’s (Tony didn’t even try to stifle his laugh when he realized what song Phil was singing), doing much of the same thing as the other agent did and pointedly watching Clint through every verse.

“ _Listen to the music of the moment, people dance and sing, we are just one big family, and it’s our god-forsaken right to loved, loved, loved, loved, loved_ ,” Phil sang impressively over Tony’s cackling about how hilarious it was that Agent knew the words to the song so well, “ _So I won’t hesitate no more, no more, It cannot wait I’m sure, there’s no need to complicate, our time short, this is our fate, I’m youuuurs_ ,”

When Phil finished the song, he was rather happy with the standing ovation Clint and Tony gave him (he could do without Tony, but the point still stands).

Cara innocently enthused that she would not go to sleep if Phil and her dad do not sing just one more time, and since it was Cara, they easily relented.

The two agents agreed to sing a fabulous duet of the love song variety, “ _I’m lucky I’m in love with my best friend, lucky to have been where I have been, lucky to be coming home again_.” Clint took the female part and Phil took the male part and the two, in their uninhibited and inebriated states, got rather... _into_ the song. 

By the end, the Avengers were all laughing hysterically, fairly drunk and absolutely in love with the sudden show of emotion by their resident emotional morons. Cara giggled obliviously during the chorus and ate cheetos during the rest of the song and Natasha just smirked that goddamn smirk of her’s (she’s not superhuman, but she’s not drunk either even though she drank just as much, if not more than, the rest of them- _damn russians_ ) while the rest of the team laughed so hard they cried.

The horrifying laughs subsided and were broken up by Cara’s inevitable yawn. Drunk or sober, the Avengers tiredly settled in to watch a movie between blankets and couch cushions and sleeping bags and plush pillows that were so unlike the pillows they had at the SHIELD barracks that they probably cost a small fortune each. 

Clint and Phil miraculously managed to tuck in next to each other on the floor (not so miraculous- Steve kicked Tony in the shin so hard that he had to bite his lip when Tony attempted to take the spot next to Clint). They’re piled with plush blankets up the wazoo and a sleeping bag for each of them. 

Just before the movie started, Cara yelped and jumped into the small space between Clint and Phil, forcing a large bowl of popcorn into her father’s hands as she stole Phil’s arm and wrapped it around herself. 

All Phil and Clint could do was smile at each other as Tony hollered at JARVIS to dim the lights and the movie rolled on the screen.

(The next morning, in their awfully nightmarish hungover states, Clint and Phil came to a wordless agreement that they wouldn’t discuss the allusive karaoke night... _ever_ , and the rest of the Avengers were forlornly forced to follow their lead.)

 

*******

He and Phil were just walking out of a debrief, about to get coffee, when the call flashed across Clint’s phone. 

“This is Barton.” Clint said as he picked up. 

“Yes, mhm. Yeah, I can be there in twenty minutes, yes. Alright. Thank you for calling. Goodbye.” And he hung up rather soon, his visage blanched.

“What’s wrong?”

“That was Cara’s school. She, um, got in trouble, I guess? They wouldn’t tell me what she did, though. The Vice Principal wants to meet with me.”

Clint looked terrifyingly pale, “I’ll come with you, Clint. It’ll be okay.” Phil offered (he was way too far gone that he didn't even bother telling himself that he was offering because he was ‘just a good guy’, no he was offering because oh god he was in love with Clint, and Cara, too. He wanted to be there.)

Clint looked gratefully at Phil, “I would really appreciate it.”

By the time they got from SHIELD HQ to Cara’s midtown school, Phil could physically see Clint’s antsiness, his fingers fidgeting and his foot tapping. 

“You ready?” Phil asked Clint, a reassuring hand on his upper arm as they stood outside the Vice Principal’s office. 

Clint just made a weird gulping noise, nodded faintly, and stepped right into the office. 

The thing that really made Clint nervous wasn’t so much his anxiety over Cara. He knew his daughter was a good kid, no matter what anybody told him. But something about going to a Vice Principal’s office gave him the creeps. 

“Mrs. Jones?” Clint said, bobbing into the office. 

Cara was sitting on a couch at the back of the office, beside the door and facing the large desk in the center. Her arms were crossed indignantly across her chest, her lips dipping into an irritated pout. Clint was quite familiar with _that_ expression. 

The VP smiled at him warmly and Clint felt like he was being lured into a trap, but really it was just the snakelike nature of kindergarten, oh god.

“Mr. Barton, thanks for coming in.” She gestured ambiguously at Phil as he he came in behind Clint, "This is your partner?”.

Both of them, being the experienced secret agents that they are, stammered like children until their point of ‘ _no, it’s not like that_ ’ was sufficiently put across. Mrs. Jones shook both their hands anyway. 

When Mrs. Jones settled back into her desk chair, she completely transformed. The Glare that Clint had most feared settled across her expression, and she leaned liberally against her elbows, “We’re here to discuss Cara’s inappropriate behavior in class today.”

Clint fought the urge to rudely interrupt her about her usage of the word ‘inappropriate’ in relation to his daughter (damn authority issues).

Phil, bless his heart, seemed to have a complete handle on the situation as he addressed the VP with that serene look of his, “What exactly did Cara do?”

“Mr. Coulson, it's school policy for _her_ to tell you that herself.”

All eyes shifted to the small blonde in the back of the room. 

Cara sat up straight, uncrossed her arms, and with her head held high, looked her dad right in the eye and told him, “A bully was making fun of my friend at recess, so I punched him.”

Clint watched her for a second, then deflated, “That’s it? Oh, good, I thought you had done something _really_ bad, like wreck the art room or steal somebody’s lunch or something or inadvertently assist in assassinating the president's son or something”

“Mr. Barton!” The VP interrupted, sounding entirely scandalized, and oops there’s that tone of voice that Clint had been absolutely terrified of, “Assaulting a peer is a _serious_ offense at this school.”

“Oh… _oh, sorry_.” Clint realized that was his cue to deal with his misbehaving daughter, how even if her light little kid-size punch couldn't do all that much damage, it was reasonable to be considered a big deal, so he knelt in front of her and held her little hands in his, “Cara, honey? You can’t punch people just because they say mean things.”

Cara cocked her head in genuine confusion, like she was some kind of adorable Labrador puppy. She frowned and said, “But isn’t that what you taught me to do?”

Clint shook his head, feeling his cheeks burn under the unenviable scrutiny of the VP (he would have long been a goner if Phil’s reassuring presence wasn’t there, just a couple feet away), “No, honey, we taught you that stuff for self defense only.”

“But Uncle Steve always says we have to stand up for the little guy!”

“We don’t have any paperwork for other family members,” The VP broke in, suddenly concerned, “Who is Uncle Steve?”

“Steve Rogers.” Clint answers, _wait for iiiiiiit_ \--

“As in Captain America?”

Clint and Phil nodded in unison. 

It was the usual reaction, to finding out that hey, we’re talking about somebody who saved the world here? A real life superhero, with special powers and an extraordinary life. 

To Phil and Clint and Cara, Captain America was nothing more than Uncle Steve, the guy that snored like an elephant with breathing problems and always got lost in Target and would use colored pencils until they weren’t anything more than a stub, but to others, Steve Rogers was a hero, an icon. They fully expected the way Mrs. Jones’s glarey anger resolved immediately at the thought. 

“So do you know Iron Man, too?”

“Yep, we all live together.”

She paused, then her eyes expanded, “Wait, does that mean- are you _Hawkeye_?”

“The one and only.”

The VP’s jaw fell open a little, “I didn’t know you had a daughter.”

Clint fought to roll his eyes, and he really wanted to answer with: _of course people don't know I have a daughter, that’s kinda the point_. Instead he just shrugged, rubbed his thumb against the soft back of Cara’s hand, and said, “Yep.”

Too fast, Mrs. Jones asked, “Is Cara going to be an Avenger?”

Phil and Clint reply quickly and together, “ _No_.”

Cara wouldn’t grow up to go anywhere even near the superhero profession if they had anything to do about it. 

Mrs. Jones was still noticeably shocked, eyes stalled in round, saucer-like suspension, and Clint was achingly used to the entire routine. It happened just about every time he went anywhere with Cara. He took the time, then, to turn back to Cara and finish what they had been discussing before Mrs. Jones’s sudden revelation.

“This is different than what Steve does, darling,” He said

“How? He hurt my friend and other kids, so I yelled at him and told him it was wrong, and then I punched him because he was still being mean. Isn't that what Uncle Steve would do?”

“That’s… _exactly_ what Uncle Steve would do,” Clint paused, because crap his little girl was gonna be fucking fantastic at the Righteous Super Thing and he was entirely unsure if he could emotionally handle that, “But, Cara, when you’re a 90 year old man and a symbol of American prosperity, then you can punch whoever you think is mean. For now, though, can you promise me you won’t hurt anybody else? Can you promise me?”

“Yes, daddy.” She nodded solemnly 

Clint smiled, pulling his daughter into a bear hug (because that's how he did punishment, with a hug at the end, whatever, it’s _his_ way, shush), “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Mrs. Jones seemed to snap out of her odd reverie, shaking her head, “Punching classmates still is not tolerated at this school, Avenger family or no. Cara will have to work in her classroom through recess for the next week as punishment.”

Phil nodded, well-versed in the Art of Punishment (damn Junior Agents making his life hell), “That’s fair.”

They rose then, the meeting unanimously at a close. Phil was already holding Cara’s home-bedazzled Avengers backpack that the VP eyed with interest. Clint had Cara’s hand tight within his own. They made it to the door before the VP stopped them. 

“Wait, can I, um, ask you something?”

Clint just nodded, dismissive, confident. 

“If you’re Hawkeye, and the Avengers are Cara’s family, then,” She paused, focusing on Phil “Are you an Avenger, too?”

Phil smiled softly, lips quirking, “Something like that.”

They left Mrs. Jones to wonder permissively in her office, and they beat it out of there before she could ask anything else. The three of them pushed away from the dimly-lit hallways and out into the gauzy Autumn sunlight.

Cara giggled to herself, “Phil,” She said, looking up at him, her voice clear and resolute, “You’re _totally_ an Avenger.”

Phil chuckled, he couldn’t help it, “Thanks, Care Bear. You are, too.”

(While Cara beamed at being called an Avenger, Clint shivered with the prospect of his daughter following in his unadvisable footsteps. Then Clint beamed and held the car door open for Phil to climb in.)

**********

“Daddy?” Cara asked, tucking her hands across her purple and green Hulk pajamas, all wide-eyed, little girl innocence, “Why don’t you spend more time with Phil?”

Clint made a face, “Why do you ask?”

“Because Phil makes you happy.”

Clint didn’t know what to say to that, just sorta stared at his daughter for a long moment.

“You smile a lot and you laugh and push him around, but when you’re with strangers or work people, you don’t do that.”

“I do that with Auntie Tash, too.” Clint rebutted, stealing Cara’s empty chocolate milk glass and slotting it into the dishwasher.

It was Cara’s turn to make a face, “It’s not the same.”

Clint leaned against the counter, mirroring her odd arm cross, shaking his head with a quiet laugh, “Wow, six years old going on sixty, aren’t you?”

Cara rolled her eyes minutely, shrugging out of her chair, “I’m going to play with my dolls until Uncle Steve comes to get me, daddy.” Then she ran off.

Clint didn’t call after her, just laughed to himself in amazement at the fact that even at six years old, his daughter had already mastered the art of the eye roll. 

*******

Phil and Clint did not fight. Ever. In all their years of being partners, the closest they ever got to fighting was extreme passive aggression and skillfully avoiding each other for half a week until they both came to their senses and realized that their entire argument was _dumb_ , and then eventually they just kinda… forgot about the whole thing.

This time was different, though. It had been going on for a whole week and every night included a fresh screaming match nearly identical to the one before it. The passive aggression was less passive and more aggressive. 

Clint had voiced his opinion about how he felt that Phil had been working too many hours, about how he felt Phil was somehow _betraying_ Cara for not being there as much as he could, that he was picking paperwork with junior agents over paperdolls with Cara. Naturally, Phil yelled back, loudly declaring all the good he had done for Cara, the stability he had somehow managed to provide within the quick-winded chaos of her adoption. The yelling never seemed to stop. 

Phil felt like he was losing his best friend, and maybe he was.

“Take me home, JARVIS,” He mumbled blandly at the ceiling of the elevator, his vocal chords sore from yelling grievously at Barton.

JARVIS made a buzzing sound that could only be the odd equivalent to a robot’s noncommittal humming as the elevator sealed itself up and began to move.

Phil frowned when the car stopped, “JARVIS, this isn’t my floor.”

“No, sir it is not.”

“Well, why am I here?”

“I believed that you wished to… _speak_ with Agent Barton, did you not?”

Sure enough, the doors had opened out into the Barton suite where Clint had retired angrily fifteen minutes before Phil had decided to make his retreat from the awkward desolation they left on the communal floor, “I-I- dammit, JARVIS. No, I don’t! I’ve been yelling at Barton for the past hour!” (He hadn't intended to yell, but he was stressed, and no, he was not going to apologize to a robot no matter how much instinct and Tony Stark told him to)

“Exactly why you should talk with him,” JARVIS paused, as if animatronically smirking, “ _Sir_.” The formality rolled out more like a laugh than a collection of ones and zeroes and Phil found himself wondering yet again how the hell he got in this situation where billionaire superheroes built robots that governed his friendships (and future relationships?).

“I would like to go back to my apartment, JARVIS.”

The elevator didn’t budge, didn’t move at all, just remained stationary, with the doors opened out into Barton’s space like an inviting kick to the backside.

“JARVIS?” Phil repeated, his nerves already frayed from yelling, his fingertips twitching. He didn’t want to fight anymore, “Isn’t it your job to do what I ask you to do?”

“I am programmed to make life easier for Mr. Stark, and I have detected that he has found your arguing with Agent Barton a hamper on his team.” JARVIS informed. 

_What a bunch of bullshit. JARVIS was totally just whiny that people were fighting. Wow, he was bitter...._

Phil resolutely held his ground, standing in the center of the elevator, arms crossed and feet shoulder-width apart, staring straight ahead and refusing to fall to JARVIS’s brutal attempt at forced camaraderie.

That was all good and working until Barton appeared around the corner, having just put Cara to bed, “Coulson?” His surprise melted into a glare, “What are you doing? Here to call me a bad father again?”

Coulson rolled his eyes (Clint was quickly learning that eye rolling was apparently a Coulson-Fighting staple), “I never said that, Barton.”

“Really? Because that’s what I heard.”

“I merely implied that it was ignorant to say I was nothing in Cara’s life.”

“Yeah, right.” Clint scoffed.

At JARVIS’s final soft hum, Phil took a step forward, “Yes, _right_.” He insisted, “I love Cara, and my work schedule has nothing to do with how much I love her.”

The argument went on and on, even as JARVIS closed the elevator doors behind Phil and neither noticed. The back-and-forth continued until it was nearly morning, a close dissection of every single word that they had shared over the past week until they found the problem and the solution, just like the old days when they worked together as an efficient agent/handler team. 

Rumpled and exhausted and finally amicable with his best friend again, Phil ambled back into the elevator even as it rounded four in the morning. 

“Hey, JARVIS?” He said, stretching out his arms, “Thanks.”

“Of course, sir.”

 

********

Cara was playing at her dad’s feet, having a tea party with her stuffed animals, when Tony sidled up beside Clint and grinned.

“You’re getting old, Clint.” He said, so achingly matter-of-fact.

“No, I’m not, Stark! I’m still young! I may be in my thirties, but it’s the _early_ thirties!” He knew it was a trap, that was classic Stark Baiting if there ever was any, but when somebody (especially egotistical billionaire superheroes) calls you old, it’s only natural to get defensive. 

“Well, Clint, buddy ol’ pal, I certainly would never know. I mean, when was the last time you went out?”

Clint frowned and grunted, moved to argue, but Tony talked over him, “And Chuck E. Cheese’s with Cara and Steve doesn’t count.” Clint slumped, “That’s what I thought.”

“Tony, I have a daughter. I have more important things to do than go out and get drunk with you.”

“Okay, okay, okay, but hear me out,” Tony paused dramatically, for effect, “One word: _babysitter_.”

Clint rolled his eyes, “Who am I gonna trust with my kid, Tony?”

Tony frowned, pensive and ever-the-theatric, “Well, I don’t know… yet. But, I’ll find one for you!”

“Really? You? You, Tony Stark, are going to find me a babysitter?”

“I’m insulted, Barton! You doubt me?”

Clint thought about the whole situation for a moment, wrapping his head around the fact that Tony Stark was currently just about on the verge of making it his personal mission to recreate Clint into a total partyer. That would no doubt end in fire-retardant bed sheets and alcoholism, or some dangerous concoction of a similar degree. Clint had found it smartest, in the past, to simply comply with Stark’s duplicitous plans. 

“Okay, here are my terms, Stark: I need the official approval of every Avenger _and_ Phil as well as thorough, _thorough_ background checks before I’ll even consider any candidate, alright?”

Tony smirked, stepping away, “Clint Barton, get ready for the most wild night of your sad, sad life.” He disappeared into an elevator and Clint was rooted with a newfound sense of dread even as Cara giggled and spilled imaginary tea all over his foot. 

Clint sincerely hated the fact that it took Tony just under a week to find the ‘ _perfect candidate_ ’. 

“It’s Darcy, right?” Clint asked, sinking into a sort of circle around her, a hawk circling his prey (Tony was hopelessly attempting to stifle a laugh at the undeniable irony there).

“Yeah, you’re the Hawkguy, right?”

“Hawk _eye_ , but yeah.”

“Didn’t know you had a kid.”

“Not a lot of people do.”

“Tony told me she likes action figures?” Clint grinned, mildly proud that his daughter had taken a liking to a predominately male toy, but his self-satisfied smirk was wiped off moments later when Darcy continued, “Yeah, no, I don’t believe that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I _mean_ that she’s a little girl living in a superhero frat house, no duh she likes action figures, but does she really like them?”

Clint glared at her, but she kept going.

“I mean, the testosterone of this room alone is through the roof.”

Clint watched her, then turned to Tony with a grin, “She's ballsy,” He said, “I like her.”

“So we can go get drunk now?” Tony grinned excitedly, knocking his sunglasses on his face and looking terrifyingly similar to a little kid on Christmas who just really, really wanted to race downstairs and see what Santa had gotten him.

Clint still hesitated, “ _Everybody_ okayed her? Phil, too? He didn't think she was too young?”

“I’m standing right here!” Darcy protested

They ignored her, “Yep, sure did, and she passed with flying colors. Plus, she and Thor are buds, so she’s used to a little chaos.”

Clint hummed noncommittally, “Fine, alright. Let’s get drunk.” (He never thought he’d say those words with such absolute regret, but being a Dad changed things about a man...)

“Partyers assemble!” Tony yelled, absolutely so fucking delighted. 

The superheroes wandered in with varying degrees of enthusiasm (Steve looked genuinely afraid while Thor was incredibly excited).

“Cara?” Clint said quietly just before they left, leaning down to meet his daughter’s eyes, “Miss Darcy here is going to play with you for a couple of hours while we go out. How’s that sound?”

Cara hummed, thinking, “Can we have spaghetti?”

“You’ll have to ask her, but probably.”

To Cara, that was enough, “Alrighty. Bye, Daddy!” She chirped, and thus Clint was forced to leave with entirely too much regret weighing on his chest.

That weight didn’t lift much as the night continued on. He felt just a little lighter when the limo Tony had rented swung past SHIELD headquarters and Phil climbed in (a ruthless combination of Obnoxious Tony and Sweet Pepper and the promise of Clint had gotten the uptight agent to somehow agree to the much-deserved outing). When Tony made an offhanded comment about how Phil never left SHIELD, Clint looked the higher level agent and wondered _why?_

The apprehension was constantly existent within Clint. Even as the Avengers all piled into a private booth at the back of some shiny, new club, Clint was highkey internally _freaking out_ about leaving Cara alone with somebody who was essentially a stranger. As far as Clint knew, the the SHIELD and SI background checks weren't good enough and he had left his daughter with a super villain. It could happen.

“Do not worry about it, Sir Hawkeye!” Thor boomed, laughing (there was no other way for Thor to speak other than _boom_ and _holler_ and it was an unfortunate fact that the world would just have to learn to accept), “I would trust Madame Darcy with my life! She is closely trusted by my Dearest Jane. I do not believe you have any reason at all not to trust her.”

Clint muttered an irritated, “ _I know, I know_ ,” But really didn’t feel all that much better at all. 

He tried not to drink too much, being a father had come with certain responsibilities, and he was pretty sure that an alcohol limit was basically one of them, so he sat back and tried not to think too much (oh, God, maybe Tony was right, he really was getting old…)

But then Phil, who really had needed the night out just as much as Clint did and took that fact to heart, downing every alcoholic beverage in sight, decided that he was determined to _dance with Clint_. Miraculously, he managed to drag Clint onto the dance floor.

Uptight Phil, The Father of Paperwork and Dumb Rules (according to Tony, anyway), was incredibly drunk. And apparently, when he got drunk he got deliciously handsy and flirty and _wow/i >. Somehow, with Phil pushed up next to him, Clint managed to actually start having fun, because _wow Phil looked really good like this, like, how is this not criminal to look this good, seriously he needs to have a talk with Natasha about stealing the Constitution or whatever so that he can make the way Phil throws his head back and dances officially illegal_. _

__

__

Tony smirks the first time he sees Phil grab at Clint’s wrist with some sort of mischievous smile, but then looks away in disgust much later when he finds them on the dance floor drunkenly grinding on each other. Tony might be blind after that, but he’ll adapt. And anyways, he has other things to worry about.

These ‘things’ that Tony worries about, turn out to be drunkenly attempting to defile a certain national treasure named Steve. Things get awkward for Cap there for awhile, especially considering he isn’t even sorta drunk (damn super serum). Everybody else just ignored the billionaire’s antics.

Pepper and Natasha didn’t leave the booth for the entire night, just sat back with fruity drinks that had shockingly high alcohol contents and gossiped in some European tongue that everybody else either didn’t understand or were too drunk to translate. 

Bruce actually made some friends, all equally as dorky _and_ sober as he was, though none of them quite had his looks… at all. But he was quiet, just sat with these new people that had no idea there was some green inside of him, and scribbled complex mathematical equations and other ideas on a drink napkin whenever a thought came to him. 

_At some point in the evening, Thor noisily bounded on top of the bar, sufficiently shattering a number of glasses beneath his feet, and decisively demanded, “_ Serve me more of this delightful midgardian drink, noble barkeep!” The rest of the bar just kinda grumbled and groaned and Thor boomed with laughter. 

Nobody was quite sure how or when they all got home, but they somehow did, and as soon as they did, they absolutely _crashed_. 

Predictably, in the morning, they collectively felt like they had been wrung through a meat grinder. 

Everybody except for Steve and Thor with their enviable ultra-metabolisms was super hungover. 

Clint kept periodically getting flashbacks from the night before, “ _Why did you quit at the first three clubs we went to and take us to a New Jersey strip club of all places? And why New Jersey, oh sweet Jesus I might be scarred_ ,” and, “ _Stark, did you really drunkenly buy a mid-size paper company?_ ” And Clint’s personal favorite, “ _How the hell did we enter and win a fruit salad contest? I didn't think any of our tactics were legal. Also, what the hell is a fruit salad contest?_ ”

When Cara traipsed in, she was entirely too cheerful for Clint’s alcohol-muddled mind, and he had to suppress a groan when she leaned in, pressed a kiss to his cheek, and exclaimed rather loudly, “Good morning, daddy!”

Dimly, he asked her, “How was your night, honey bunch?”

Cara smiled magnificently, “Oh, daddy! It was so, so, so, so fun! Miss Darcy and I made homemade ice cream, and she painted my nails, and we did other girly things, because she said I’m a girl that lives with a bunch of dumb boys and needs to do more girly things, and it was really, really fun! Can she come back, Daddy? Please?”

Clint was in literal physical pain, and he groaned but nodded anyway. 

He really was stuck now, wasn't he? If Cara liked Darcy as much as she claimed, then Clint was officially out an excuse not to go out with Tony. 

Tony was grinning victoriously/evilly, and Clint groaned again, slumping down against the cool counter. A wonderfully grease plate of bacon and extra strong, extra large cup of coffee were pushed in front of him. Clint looked up, and there was Phil, who winked at him from over his own coffee cup, and Clint couldn't help but think that despite the splitting hangover, another night out might not actually be the worst thing in the world after all…

(When some scarily vivid flashbacks from the dance floor with Clint return to Phil later on at breakfast, he flushes a deep red and unknowingly finds himself thinking the same things as Clint.)

 

*******

Clint paced and paced and paced and paced. He paced so much that Phil was honest-to-god concerned that the marksman was going to worry a hole straight through the Medical floor. 

“Clint, you need to sit down, or get some water or coffee or something.”

Clint scoffed, “Yeah, _no way_.”

A kidnapping attempt had been made on Cara’s life, and no way was he going to breach the ten foot radius he had subconsciously mapped around her. Cara, of course, had easily gotten away, underestimated for her size and age and maturity and just about everything else. 

The minor lacerations racing up her arms as well as her close, close affiliation with The Avengers had landed her in SHIELD Medical, hence the pacing. 

Phil, through it all, of course, was being the rational one, reasoning with Clint when he was being entirely unreasonable, and doing his best to convince his agent that there were things he could do that didn't include worrying and hovering. 

Naturally, Clint stormed off into Cara’s small hospital room at the very first sign of Phil’s logical mindset. 

“You know what?!” He hollered bitterly from the doorway, “Why don’t you just mind your own business, hmm? Cara isn't your daughter. Just go do work or whatever it is you do when you aren't _suffocating_ me, Coulson. Just go.”

Hours later, when Clint appeared in Phil’s office, he could tell that Phil was understandably upset, not just about Clint’s little explosion but about Cara’s wellbeing, too, and Clint immediately regretted the poison he had unlawfully spat. 

Phil didn't notice that he had been standing there for an embarrassingly long time when Clint finally spoke up, “Cara is fine.”

“That’s good to hear. I knew she would be. Are you heading back to the tower now?”

“Mhm, Tony and Steve are with her right now. I just-” He stopped, frowned, took a number of determined steps forward until he was right there, right in front of Phil, so intoxicatingly close and entirely disobeying things like _boundaries_ by breaching into Phil’s side of his desk. 

Clint took in a sharp breath, “I’m really sorry, Phil. Really. I didn't mean what I said at all.” He paused, breathed, gauged Phil’s gaze, “And Phil? I would really like it if you minded _my_ business.”

It came out sounding wrong and slightly off-putting with its odd and incredibly _Clint_ way of wording, but Phil chuckled despite himself and despite the eerily serious expression on Clint’s face. 

“Phil,” Clint said the name fervidly, breathless, and he breathed in deep like he was going to begin some intense speech or start an emblazoned rant or say something really, really important. 

Instead, Clint leaned forward and kissed Phil on the lips, like he _meant it_.

And of course Phil kissed him right back, because he is Phil and this is Clint: _an inevitability_.

When they parted, they parted like the world was ending, and Clint was smiling like hell, “I’d really like you in my life, Phil. Mine and Cara’s.”

Phil smiled so fucking wide it was like Pangea breaking apart into continents except all at once, because _finally_. And even if this wasn't the greatest of ideas, to get so completely and utterly attached to a mostly-emotionally-stunted archer/secret agent who had a kid and priorities and responsibilities and immaturities and all sorts of wonderful, beautiful flaws, it didn't matter much at all because Phil was so, so far gone for this man. It was hopeless, really.

“I like being in your life, Clint.” He said, leaning in for another kiss, just because he could, and loving the way Clint’s lips felt against his, moving slow and steady, learning the points and pulses and pleasures of it all. To Phil, everything was finally right in his world. 

That is, until they broke abruptly apart at the sound of a shrill scream. The sound was so frighteningly high-pitched that it was impossible to tell who it belonged to, but if the shocked Tony Stark and blushing Steve Rogers huddled in the doorway was anything to go by, it was one of the two internationally-acclaimed superheroes standing in Phil’s doorway.

There was an odd clash of Tony triumphantly whooping, “ _Finally_!” Just as Steve smartly said, “Alright, let's stay out here.” To a thankfully distracted Cara (Clint still wasn't 100% on the whole Dad thing, but he was pretty positive that walking in on your Dad and your…. Phil was a traumatizing no-no).

They could hear Cara out in the office, chatting it up delightedly with Phil’s assistant, and thanks to Steve, without a care in the world. But Tony was still standing there, even as Phil blushed (Clint thinks, holy hell that’s hot, as he watches the uncharacteristic pink lick around Phil’s ears and the back of his neck in embarrassment. _Dammit, Phil, more things that should be illegal, ugh_.)

“What do you want, Stark?” Phil glowered, unhappy with being interrupted

“Oh no, I want nothing. In fact, I should probably thank you. Now Bruce owes me twenty bucks.” The billionaire cackled, then _winked_ at the pair of spies, “I’ll give you two a couple more minutes.”

Then Stark left, and shut the door behind him.

Phil had said on _multiple_ occasions that he had an immense aversion to the superhero, but in the moment? Phil could not stop smiling if his life depended on it. 

It was okay, though, because Clint was smiling, too, and he turned to face Phil, “You know, Phil? In the spirit of oweing people things, I think i owe you dinner.” He rubbed his hands up and around Phil’s shoulders, interlocking them behind his neck.

Phil kissed Clint again, again, long, and deep, and sweet. He pulled away and stood up, reaching for Clint’s hand, “Yeah, I could go for dinner.” He said, as if it was actually humanly possible for him to say no to Clint Barton, pssh. 

That day, Phil Coulson walked out of SHIELD headquarters alongside Iron Man and Captain America, holding tightly onto the man he had fallen love with on one side and the little girl that wasn’t his, but had somehow become his world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs from the Slumber Party scene were Cobie Caillat's "Fallin For You", Jason Mraz's "I'm Your's", and funnily enough Jason Mraz and Cobie Caillat's "Lucky" (it's funny because I picked out the solo songs first then set out to find their duet and I picked the song out before realizing that the artists were the same haha)
> 
> Thanks for reading, and please comment! Next chapter is going to be Phil and Clint trying to figure out about their relationship, etc, while juggling Cara. All feedback, suggestions, comments, etc are hugely, hugely appreciated. I love, y'all :)


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